Wednesday, July 10, 2013

SSS: THE WHOLE WORLD HATES ME, BUT I DANCE.


*CLICKY CLICKY*

click on the enneagram above to close this chapter of my life. as the hobbit said, "I'm going on an adventure." SLP=Super Late Phoenix, or Super Lame Promotion: Man of Steel, out now in theatres...





like the old train hobos of lore, i spread out my red Bret Michaels bandana, stretch it out as far as it will go on the bed, and pack my things onto this thin piece of fabric. i will crumple all the items up later, tie it all up into a big ball, and attach the ball of stuff to the tip of a long stick. i will be a Norman Rockwell painting before too long.

i pack Del Potro's knees, no, toss those, Del Potro's heart rather, i'll need it when the cold gets bitter. i pack some thin mints which match my thin frame and my thin will. i also pack my invisible bottle of invisible cream, this has proven invaluable in my life when i didn't want to face consequences, didn't want to trudge through bumps in the relationship road, wanted to get away as the commercial cajoles. i forgot where i put the cream. no bother, i've had it on all my life without ever opening its tight lid. those lids are impossible to open, like pickle jars.

the world clearly hates me, it's evident in emails and comments and lack of emails and lack of comments. online can only work with electricity. recently this week, my cablebox which connects everything to each other would flutter on and off, i needed to have five lights working, there would only be two or three. i'd be reading something jawdroppingly fascinating over at HuffPo when the damn box would flicker, and i knew i'd be screwed. there'd be nothing functioning for an undetermined amount of time: no computer, no tv, no ipad mini. this is the genius of having all of your devices, all of your life force, wrapped up into one rectangular box of death. i am just about to type something profound, but, the...no. no, don't you fucking dare, lights, NO LIGHTS NO!....argghhh...flickering again...there are FOUR LIGHTS! Jean-Luc Picard feels me. every single time i called the cable company, i was met with elevator music like something out of Tim and Eric and a recording of a female's suspiciously calm voice informing me that they know there's an outage in my area and are doing their utmost to fix the problem as soon as possible. sorry for the inconvenience. it should all be fixed by 4PM today. yeah, sure, there is no outage, that is the default recording they play for everyone, i'm not special. no one lives in the Cable Main Headquarters building save that female robot. if she had a body to go along with the voice i'd be one thing. never mind i'm missing my precious soaps.

the world has rejected all of my revolutionary ideas, my internet ideas that though they are on the internet aren't internet-crazy like the rest of the youtube ranters. they make sense...to me, only me. Earth has rejected my body, my spirit, my soul, my essence, i was created in a devil's image and it's time to go home. i have no companionship. i talk to no one save a stray trashman. my cat mirrors me to a T, scarily so, in a way that is not kind, my cat even after all this time fears me, and i him, he's constantly on his hind legs, crouched and haunched, ready to strike me or anyone, he doesn't trust, will never trust, remind you of someone? he's damaged goods forever, he's a shelter pet, that's just how they come, i'm a shelter man, where is my free doggy treat? yes, i'd like the light brown, not the dark. it's only for this one day because i'm new here at the shelter, so i will enjoy every bit, every morsel of this free treat before i'm caged up with the rest of the rejected riffraff. free food tastes so good. free tastes so good.

my hobo guise all set, i stride forth from out my house like a cosplayer on acid late for Anime Expo. where am i going in such a rush? fuck if i know, i've always had this urge to escape, to run away, the desire to leave, to go somewhere, anywhere but here, i've always perceived where i am, where i was living, as death, a black hole, a shit town (the band Live, google it), a place of ennui and lack of creativity and helplessness and settling, the sound of dead leaves and settling (Death Cab For Cutie, google it). my body yearned to escape, to free itself from a prison of boredom, the same mall, the same deadbeat Beat poets and gothed-out goths and skaters living in the '80s when skateboarding was still novel, and a choice of women who are either jaded from too much computer or are in fact too good for me, i mean that one babe was out of my league, she told me so. she was pretty, but i find the Justices on the Supreme Court pretty. have to escape, leave, travel to Ancient Greece, help out in Africa, dine in exotic locales, sip champagne on a river, fuck in a canoe, dance naked in a Roman church. your problems will follow you wherever you go, a college girl told me that once, whether you sign up for the army, the PTA, or the PETA, the Peace Corps or the Corps of the Black Star, a local cult that relishes in Satan and Black Star from the anime Soul Eater.

they tried to enneagram me, but it looked too much like a Satanic Circle.
then i realized what i was saying and demanded they make me High Priest.
of course this is my destination, to serve a secret master who fashioned me in a lab
and kept all the knowledge of the real universe from me,
for i was his android, his beloved son he couldn't have,
i served a purpose though i wasn't really alive,
i gave him Data, he loved me though i couldn't feel it,
do robots pray once they're turned off?

i stroll past the cat, kiss him on top of the head, and open the back door. there, a trashman is waiting to scold me.

"you put a large twig in the recycling bin that's just for plastic and tin, it fucked up my traveling smasher recycling truck."

he speaks! he speaks to me! my friend, my one and only (Smashing Pumpkins, google it), i exist, i acted in a way that forced interaction, flesh interaction, not online wisps, man to man, human to human, one blood, one love, one robotic chip, one imaginary god, united forever.

i shook the trashman's hand and answered his query.

"yes!!!" i exclaimed joyously like a baby's first laugh, "yes, my brother, i was never asked out to prom, i love to dance, i do it all the time, helps me forget, helps me heal, helps me throw things harmful to me in the trash, you'd like that...


.....CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK: "THERE'S ALWAYS A LAST TIME FOR EVERYTHING."








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4 comments:

Cheeky Minx said...

Damn the lands and seas and miles separating us. We should be neighbours (and not in the horrible Oz soapie sense) - we could smash pumpkins and dance and sing and wreak havoc on the recycling bins and get naked when the signal flutters and get lost in the sex haze, in each other...

the late phoenix said...

*singing the Neighbours theme*

"Sex Haze", okay, we have the title, now all we need is the beat...

Kazi G said...

Dancing with the rubbish man... there's a movie in that somewhere ;)

I always knew you were a superhero! :*

~Kazi xxx

the late phoenix said...

kazi: if nothing else, a band name in there